


Links of Lyrium - Prologue

by MyrddinDerwydd



Series: Lyrium Ghost [4]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: AU, Comic: Dragon Age: Blue Wraith, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Lyrium, Magical Tattoos, The Fade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 23:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30029172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyrddinDerwydd/pseuds/MyrddinDerwydd
Summary: The Kirkwall Chantry has exploded, mysterious elves have left the Fade and are wandering the forest, and old friends seek refuge wherever is available. One elf in particular seeks freedom with their Hawke, but finds that the chains of lyrium still wrack his mind and body. Will he ever truly be free of them?Follow this series for updates and find me at MyrddinDerwydd on Tumblr to chat!
Relationships: Fenris & Solas (Dragon Age), Fenris/Hawke (Dragon Age)
Series: Lyrium Ghost [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/901617
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Links of Lyrium - Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to BreadyBye from the Bioware Fanfiction Writers' Club for beta reading this prologue today!

A restless spirit of victory, prowling the forest.

An uneasy spirit of diligence, haunting an outlying farm.

A willowy spirit of freedom, so familiar a friend that his heart aches when she seeks him out.

Spirits swarm across this random corner of the Fade, chaos incarnate. Rage, pride, curiosity, and resolve - these four are not the only spirits drawn to the mangled pain of the dreamer, but they number among the strongest. The source of these tortured dreams is as a fractured gem in a conductive array, bleeding raw power and emotion where there should be only memory and light. The dreamer's skin is clammy with sweat, fingers clenched into fists, pulled tight against their chest. Not only pain but strength, coiled muscles trembling, shivering against remembered abuses, the bulwark of their mind an uneven patchwork that stands unbroken nonetheless. The spirits surge and swirl toward this untapped power, held at bay only by the dreamer's resolve...

The power enthralls him too, has drawn him across the Orlesian border and into some coarser land he does not know. The source is close, the taste of lyrium on his skin bright and crackling, power from the deeps humming in the air. He breathes deeply again with all of his senses, mind slipping freely through the energy of the dreaming world while his body slumbers by a small fire. He is a dreamer, a _somniari_ , one of few people able to walk the dreams of others in the Fade, to shape this world of shifting smoke, to touch their sleeping souls.

The path is simple tonight, their destination a gnarled knot of pain and lyrium, a beacon that pulses only a few miles away in the waking world. The _somniari_ stops in the reflection of an inn, a body coalescing from light and mist. The form he takes is tall and lean, his own elvhen body from long ago. At least, it is as close as he can recall. His memory is oddly fickle now that he has fully stepped into that pallid waking world, leaving the comforting embrace of _uthenera._ The color of his hair seems lost to him, the memory locked deep in the Fade, so he has only the pale curve of his bare scalp and ambiguously auburn eyebrows. Yet the small, deep scar that gouges his brow is as clear as a burning brand at midnight. He shakes his head slightly, half-formed nostrils flaring in a noble, angular face. Thoughts for another time. The dreamer's form is dense here, thick and strong, which was... strange. A sleeper should be but a flicker and a shadow. Few of these simple beings reflect in the dreaming world as more than a whisper.

At his side moves an old friend, an ally of not centuries but of millennia. Freedom's lean, willowy form changes frequently, blending light and mist, leading him deeper into the town. They dart ahead, then back, then around his body as they swirl into a streamer of light and back again. They lead him toward a room, a person, a nexus of power on the second floor of the reflected inn.

The source of the chaos appears to be one of this time's elves, hair and skin alight with the white blaze of lyrium. No mage nor templar this one, yet the Stone's power flows in curving lines across the elf's skin in familiar patterns. He stretches out one hand toward the sleeping form, eyes drifting closed as he calls out to the dreamer with an old voice, a voice of strength and change and an unending search for solutions. Long, slender fingers sooth the chaos from the spirits that coalesce around the sleeper until they drift into a quiescent circle in the reflected room.

_Death would be the simplest choice._ The _somniari's_ mental murmur is as clear as a morning dewdrop. _Yet these blazing lines carven in flesh are known to me. Crude, ill-formed, searing, broken - but known. The soul within is shattered, mended, forged anew. Blinded. Fragile. Wild. A hooded falcon flying high, shredded jesses dangling free..._ His thoughts trail off as he stares at the untapped power suffusing the man's body.

_I could take it. I could pull the lines of lyrium from their body and... Then what? The bounty before me is only a fraction of my need. A large fraction, yes. However..._ The somniari tilts his head slightly, looking down at the quiet form. He looks again and sees a warrior. A survivor. _This creature is not elvhen, yet they survived untold years of this fractured_ gen'tunashre _searing their body and wracking their spirit._

Resolve shifts toward them, the spirit's movements confident and swift as it halts between the sleeper and the _somniari._ It folds hazy arms across its bare, muscled chest, deep green form lined with the same silver swirls of the lyrium-branded elf lying before them. The match is unmistakable, as is Resolve's intent.

"There is much strength in him, Long-stalker." Resolve's voice is a warm, slightly feminine rumble, clipped and strong.

"I see," he says. "You do this creature great honor." The _somniari's_ tenor voice is cool and lilting, the gilded words of ten thousand years ago rolling smoothly from his new-formed tongue. In the waking world the coarse, common language would sour in his mouth like rancid meat.

A smile eases onto Freedom's face as they look fondly from the sleeper up to the _somniari._ Across the reflected room Pride nods sharply as the lesser spirits begin to drift away, now that the dreamer rests.

"His life has been hard won." Pride's voice rings out, strong and icy clear. "Rebuilt, shard by fractured shard." Its form is broad-shouldered and tall, ephemeral hands linked behind its back and scale-hard edges to their sharp features.

"I shall play the long game again, as always." The _somniari_ inclines his head toward each spirit in turn, acknowledging their roles in his decision. "Another piece on the board." His form collapses into mist, leaving the silver-haired stranger to a peaceful night.

Freedom alone remains in the room of the inn, watching the sleeping elf slowly fade from the changing realm, falling into a simple, dreamless slumber. _Revas_ is the spirit's name in the elvhen tongue, and they have stood beside many others like this lyrium laced elf -those who break chains and rend the world with the shattered pieces. Those like the _somniari._


End file.
